


A Devil's Day

by AllDressedUpAndNaked



Category: Original Work
Genre: And they will die, And yes...children will get hurt, Because death hurts, This is graphic and violent and will be disturbing to those who don't want to see children get hurt, at the young and innocent age of 9 years, very badly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 18:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14754242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllDressedUpAndNaked/pseuds/AllDressedUpAndNaked
Summary: Two children are brutally murdered by a Beast in the forest.





	A Devil's Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at trying to write better, bloody, graphic horror. 
> 
> Cuz I need it. Badly. 
> 
> The practice, that is. For my writing.
> 
> Also, the spacing and sentence structure (there are fragments and other grammatically erred sentences) are purposely and intentionally done. They are not mistakes. If there are any typos, however, such as extra letters or misspelled words, those ARE mistakes, ones which I would not be happy about. Please point them out. While I do try to edit my work to perfection, I sometimes miss things. And that bothers me. A lot. To the point of madness. It's a curse, really. Somebody help.

_A Devil’s Day_

 

Rosy innocence plays on delicate, milky white skin. Smiling, laughing, feeling loved. A twin sits nearby. The same emotions. Same innocence. It is all they have ever known, each other.

Shielded, encased, protected within the vast emptiness of hundreds of acres of evergreen. Outsiders are not allowed. Yet one prowls the forests; eyes the youngsters from the trees. Like a sleek jungle cat; stalking, hunting, waiting. The Beast is patient.

Because red wine gets better with age. Too young, there is not enough fear of the unknown. Too old, logic overrides curiosity. Now, now they are ripe and ready. Ready for harvest.

But the Beast only truly desires one. The blood of the homogametic tastes best. Something about that Y chromosome...it just doesn’t taste right.

There is a small problem. The twins never part. Hopes of getting the boy alone are futile. The girl is always there; ever present.

Not to worry, the Beast can have fun with the extra one. Practice mutilation techniques. Hone the craft of torture. But not until after the Beast has fed. The Beast needs its energy, after all. Maybe the Beast will make the twin watch as it sups on her brother’s blood. Yes, that will do very nicely.

 

A sound; pleasant to the ear, a siren on the open sea. It calls to the twins. Deeper into the forest they run. Not too far, or else daddy will be upset with them. It stops before the kids get too nervous. But far enough so parents cannot hear screams.

Curious eyes wander the scenery. Just trees. And undergrowth. This part of the forest is a bit thicker with greenery than other parts. Just enough for a Beast to stay hidden. To stay undisclosed, until……

SNAP!

A decaying branch gives way under the Beast’s foot. It’s behind them. Two small heads whip around in unison, fear gracing the youthful faces. The Beast reveals itself, eyes glowing, mesmerizing the youngsters. There appears to be no danger. There are no dripping fangs, no razor claws. No matted fur or snarling jowls. It doesn’t look like a beast at all.

Fear gives way to relief, as there is nothing to fear in beauty. Or, is there…

After all, even Lucifer was once called the most beautiful of all the angels.

 

Flames suddenly consume all greenery. Soft forest floor melts away to cold, hard, unforgiving stone. Panic seeps into the children’s eyes as a wall of fire springs up around them. Now, it is only them, and the Beast, and the icy floor. There is nowhere to run. No place to hide.

For the boy, a swift and merciful death. Sister cries out, but can only watch in horror. She cannot move.

An invisible force hangs the boy upside down, slightly above the Beast. As if standing under a cleansing waterfall, the Beast showers in the raining blood. Opening its mouth, gargling the warm fluid, swallowing it down… truly a surreal and gruesome sight for one sibling to witness of another.

But this makes it all the more fun for the Beast. Makes the wine taste sweeter. More satisfying.

Every…

last…

drop.

 

The Beast finally finishes; cries of the sister having long since dried up. Eyes puffy. Swollen from a lifetime’s worth of sobbing having taken place in only a fraction of the time. But not too much that it impedes her vision. She clearly sees the Beast. Sees how its focus has now turned to herself.

Fear fills her. She thinks she is next. Her blood next for the Beast to bathe in and devour. She is dead wrong, though. The Beast smiles. He knows her thoughts.

But he doesn’t tell her she is wrong. No need to explain that, while still edible, her blood is vastly inferior to her brother’s; that he does not want to consume her.  She’s too young to understand, anyway.

A gruesome hand, slimy with her own brother’s blood, snakes around her neck. In panic, she fights back. Kicks. Pulls. Scratches. Even bites. Sickened, she spits out the metallic taste now coating her tongue. She is no match for the Beast, however. He simply lifts her up. Airways blocked, she struggles. Without oxygen, she loses strength quickly. Her body goes limp.

She feels herself falling. The Beast has dropped her. Frail body quickly meets icy stone floor; the impact jarring her into full awareness once again.

A sudden weight, an immense pressure, is felt on one leg. The side of her knee is being crushed. Forced between Beast and rock. Dry screams ring out. It doesn’t take long.

Crack!

The joint is splintered into several fragments. A particularly sharp piece breaks through delicate skin, the sight of which causes screams to grow louder. Blood flows, but not excessively. She will last quite a while yet.

Another blood soaked hand comes into view. It grips something. Something thin. Something shiny. Flames dance on the pure silver surface, a reflection of the surroundings. Eyes grow wide with realization. You are never too young to know what a blade’s purpose is.

 

It is slowly brought up to the shaking head.

It is close.

Too close.

 

She stops moving her head for fear that the next motion will lead to making contact with its point. Eyes squeeze shut in horrified anticipation of being cut somewhere on her face. After forever, it finally happens.

She flinches as the cold metal gently touches her forehead. A breath is sucked in and held. New pain expected. But there is no pain. Not yet. The blade is carefully, lightly dragged around to the temple, then the cheek, under the eye, down the edge of the nose, across the upper lip, down and under the chin, before coming to rest over a thin, well-defined collar bone.

The Beast is patient.

The girl will have to breathe soon. As the air floods out, and chest relaxes, that is the instance it plunges, causing another deep breath and the entire young body to stiffen. She screams out, this pain more unbearable than the last. Intense muscular rigidity, holding one’s breath… it only serves to intensify pain reception in the brain.

Just above the collar bone, just to the side of the vital airway. Sharp metal is forced down, through to the other side. Sensitive tendons, muscle, nerves; sliced through. The blade retreats, agonizingly slowly.

Breathing is abrupt now. Quick, in and out. Forced through sobbing moans. She is almost at her breaking point. Physical and mental anguish almost at its highest threshold of tolerance.

It’s all well and good, though. The Beast is nearly done.

Just one more thing. A gift for the child’s parents. A display for those who will find her. After all, beauty is to be shared with others, is it not?

 

The girl is forced onto her stomach, to lay upon the cold stone floor. To lay in the pool of her own blood now intermingled with her brother’s. She is still sobbing, but no longer capable of attempting to struggle or fight back.

Arms are outstretched, legs crossed at the ankles. A fitting sacrificial pose.

The Beast draws the blade harshly down one side of the spine. Skin and flesh quickly flayed to reveal one half of a cage of bones. Those that are there to protect delicate organs. Vital organs.

She again cries out. But there is very little sound left.

The knife comes back. This time for the opposite side of the spine. Again, skin and flesh drawn back to reveal the other half of the cage. But before she can cry out again, the knife is plunged, dragged down through each bone, guided along by the side of the spine. Each rib is broken through before the knife retreats again. Only to mimic the action on the other side.

This is it. The mind has finally ceased to interpret what is happening to the body. It has broken. But the body is still alive. Only, very few breaths are left in it.

One by one, each rib bone is lifted. There are two vibrant, healthy lungs hidden below. The Beast reaches in, carefully extracting each organ and laying them down. One over each shoulder blade. Each still attached to the body, but now in a most unnatural position.

They barely inflate and fall one final time. Blood trickles out of the corner of the girl’s mouth. Death finally takes her.

The Beast takes in the work of art it has created. Then steps away, gazing upon the children one last time, before slinking back into the forest, satisfied. There will be one last prize, however. The Beast will wait high in the trees. The final prize will come soon.

When the gift has been discovered.

 

* * *

 

Panicked voices carry through the unusually quiet forest. They call to two children. Twins. A boy and a girl. The voices belong to a mother and father. They are fraught with worry.

A high powered beam of light sways back and forth through the darkness. Then suddenly it freezes. Its wielder has become paralyzed from the appalling scene it illuminates. An ear-piercing scream rings out, and the light falls to the forest floor.

The man races over to the origin of the scream and the wailing sobs that follow. His beam of light confirms his darkest fear. The sight churns his stomach.

What looks like little wings rest atop the shoulders of a bruised, bloody, and broken body.

His little angel is dead.

 

There is no trace of the boy, however. But they will only realize this after the initial shock of what they are now gazing upon finally wears off.

 

Far above their heads, a beautiful face smiles down on the scene. The Beast is content.

It has been a satisfying day, indeed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was pleasant...for me, anyway. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
